


She Will Outlive God

by chicagoartnerd



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A Scandal In Belgravia, Badass Irene, Gen, Irene is my Queen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-03
Updated: 2012-01-03
Packaged: 2017-10-28 19:03:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/311199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chicagoartnerd/pseuds/chicagoartnerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock would outlive God to have the last word. But in the end it was Irene who had the auspicious honor.</p><p>This is what a woman in complete control of the situation and getting one over on Sherlock Holmes looks like. How Irene was in canon Arthur Conan Doyle verse, a brilliant woman who bends the world to her terms, is how she will remain in my heart.</p>
            </blockquote>





	She Will Outlive God

**Author's Note:**

> I might have feelings about how they turned Irene in to a damsel to be saved at the end of Scandal in Belgravia. In the original canon she bested Sherlock and he took it. She was his intellectual equal and she would be one of the only people, besides Mycroft, to ever beat him at the Game.
> 
> Which is why I wrote this fix it fic. I am in no way claiming to be a better writer than Moffat. Because I'm not. But there is one thing I am better at because I am a Queer, kinky, feminine, feminist, lady. Writing strong story lines for Queer, kinky, badass ladies. XD
> 
> Hope you all enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

She had beat them thoroughly and there was really nothing either Holmes brother could do but take it.

She licked her lips and grinned. Let her have her prize and leave to disappear from both their sights. It was probably better this way actually. Less messy in some respects as everything had now gone to Hell.

At least for Mycroft although even Sherlock seemed exhausted by the whole situation as she watched him slump in the chair by the fire. She was now sitting pretty, watching the disaster of a show unfold.

Irene knew exactly what was coming next because he was Sherlock Holmes after all. He will have, or at least try to have, the last word.

“No.”

She turned to look at him and smiled lightly. This would be interesting. He could surprise her, this she was well aware of, but in the short while she had known him she had seen how slowly he learned. At least when it came to the truly important things. He could read your profession in your cufflinks and your sexuality in the tilt of your hips but he understood his own emotions as little as he did the distant burning nebulas and dusty galaxies of space. And this was a matter he was out of his depth in to be sure.

She would play along for her part though. And she could be very good when she wanted to be. For the most part people wanted her to be utterly bad. And when they paid well enough she would bend them over her knee and show them how wicked she could truly be.

But in this instance she could be the good little lost girl for him. He expected to find her a slave to her emotions. He was about to find out the collar and leash were really on the other party.

How fun it was going to be to watch the victory cross his smug face.

She honestly couldn’t wait to see what it looked like when he typed in the passcode.

“Excuse me?”

“I said no. You were very, very close but no. You got carried away, the Game got too elaborate. You were enjoying yourself too much.”

“There’s no such thing as too much.”

He was moving right along and she could see the wheels whirring behind those bright blue eyes. It was thrilling to be at the center of their attention. She could understand John’s infatuation if only for that but it went deeper. So much deeper when it came to those two men. It didn’t take her skills to see that but they both seemed so oblivious to identifying what it was they felt when it was something they lived everyday.

Pity.

That would be why Sherlock was about to loose.

“No enjoying the thrill of the chase is just fine. Craving the distraction of the Game I sympathize entirely, but sentiment? Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the loosing side.”

“Sentiment? What are you talking about?”

“You.”

“Oh dear God . Look at the poor man. You don’t honestly think I was interested in you? Why? Because you’re the great Sherlock Holmes the detective in the funny hat?”

He thought she loved him. He was right but also entirely wrong.

She loved the challenge of him; he was a puzzle, a beautiful brilliant one true enough. But her lust for him was purely for the Game they could play, the twisting writhing meeting of their intellects. When she said, “Jump” he didn’t ask how high but instead, “Through where, at what velocity and angle, and what will be the end result of me obeying your command at this particular juncture?”

And she loved it.

Craved it, which might have been a weakness but it was his as well. His and hers and even Jim Moriarty’s. They would all most likely destroy each other playing this Game but it would be a fantastic ride on the way down. And she always did enjoy a good ride, thoroughly enough in fact to seek out troublesome people and situations. It was in her intrinisic nature.

And he was right, she would love every minute of it.

“No. Because I took your pulse. Elevated. Your pupils dilated.”

Oh yes she had been aroused there was no denying that. But who wouldn’t be playing a deadly game of wits with one of the most brilliant men in the world?

Just because she was aroused didn’t automatically conflate that desire with her being in love. They were two completely different creatures; lust dragged its claws along the backs of the restless and fleeting as it licked its seductive fangs. Love was a fragile bird on a branch, soft feathers and delicate chirps but not even a hurricane could shake it from its perch. It was steel and resolve and unrelenting.

And they were not mutually exclusive as the poor boy was about to find out.

“I imagine John Watson thinks love is a mystery to me but the chemistry is very destructive. When we first met you told me disguise was always a self portrait and how true of you the combination to your safe your measurements but this, this is far more intimate, this is your heart and you should never let it rule your head.”

“You could have chosen any random number and walked out of here with everything you’ve worked for. But you just couldn’t resist it could you? I've always assumed love was a dangerous disadvantage. Thank you for the final proof.”

“Everything I said was not real. I was just playing the Game.”

It was her final attempt to try and show him. To make him see.

It was a warning and it was the kindest thing she had ever said to him. But he refused to heed it. To his detriment.

“I know. And this is just loosing.”

He triumphantly showed her what was reflected on the screen.

She bid herself to cry so he would press the button sealing his fate. When he did her smile returned but it was only sad for a moment.

Then it was victorious and predatory once more.

“Quite good. You figured out one of the passcodes. Too bad it was the one that destroys the data.”

Sherlock cried out as the phone burst in to flames and he dropped it immediately on the floor where it exploded in sparks and flames.

Mycroft and Sherlock both looked on completely stunned as she turned to them.

“That was terribly unfortunate. I suppose you’ll never save all those hapless people. Unless that phone wasn’t the only place the names and information were stored.”

She tapped the side of her head playfully with one perfectly manicured nails,

“You boys aren’t the only ones on earth with eidetic memories you know. I’ll be keeping in touch until my bank account has been wired in full Mycroft.”

She then slunk over to Sherlock's rigid form and leaned in close to his ear, her lips almost ghosting the side of his cheek,

"You think caring and love is a weakness Mr. Holmes. You scorned what you thought was an expression of my heart when in reality you should have embraced your own.”

“Love is a power greater than any agency or army, and caring can change the world. The password to open the phone was 'John.'"

As she pulled away she looked in to his eyes as they blew completely wide in shock. She just smiled brightly.

Maybe in time he would see. But as of right now he had been beaten and most likely would spend the next week getting verbally reamed by his older brother and sulking about the flat. But after all that maybe that big sexy brain of his would catch up with what his heart has already shown him time and time again.

With her final triumph nicely tucked away she retrieved her long black overcoat and waved seductively at the door to Mycroft’s office, throwing a good bye over her shoulder like a small black handbag,

"Goodnight boys. I'll be seeing you around."

\----------------------------------------------

 

It was quite sunny and bright in the Maldives as she laid out in nothing but the bottoms of her black and white Chanel two-piece and a pair of Gucci sunglasses by William Buckley. She normally wouldn’t be sun bathing but it was just too lovely outside not to. Her clients preferred her pale like a porcelain doll, the illusion of fragility behind the rigid whip and crop.

But sometimes the sunshine was good for you, vitamin B and all that.

Shifting her head carefully back towards the bungalow she heard the shifting of footsteps in the sand as Kate came to stand next to her. She put her pristinely manicured hand over her eyes and squinted through her sunglasses up at her,

“I assume you’re not here to rub sun tan lotion on me again dear because while I am flattered by your enthusiasm I’d say I’m quite covered enough.”

The red headed woman rolled her eyes but then blatantly ran them up and down her nude chest, languidly admiring the view.

“No but I might come back in an hour or two to touch you up. Can’t be too careful when it comes to skin cancer. The eldest Holmes has finally completed his end of the bargain and I sent the encrypted files.”

She clapped her hands once and sat up turning to face Kate and extending her hand,

“Wonderful! I’ll be needing my phone for just a moment then. I have a text to send.”

Kate handed her the slim plum colored blackberry and then made her way back to their accommodations while Irene quickly tapped away at the keys and hit send with a cat-like grin of pleasure.

\----------------------------------------------

Sherlock was sitting at his desk in 221B surrounded by books, notes, half eaten biscuits, and two three day old empty tea mugs. He was completely engrossed in deciphering a numeric code made out of multiple deceased right second toes when his phone buzzed with an erotic moan.

He hadn’t heard that text alert for months but it could only be one person.

The Woman.

He thought about ignoring it at first but he couldn’t even begin to deduce what she wanted to say to him now after what had happened, after all this time. And that was terrifying and intriguing all the same. He opened it quickly and scrolled through it in half a second. It simply read,

“Goodbye for now Sherlock Holmes. You still have much to learn.”

He sat back in his chair mutely and stared it. Maybe he really did.


End file.
